


without you, life in technicolor

by rickandmortysins



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Action/Adventure, C137cest, M/M, but i could only be, but like semi-major, but mellow drama, dramatique (tm), he just tries so hard, i thought i could be dramatic, i'm a fan of doofus rick, it's like melodrama, morty grew up, non-major character death, poorly thought out, takes place in the future when morty is older, the galactic federation and the citadel of ricks had a baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 10:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15928967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickandmortysins/pseuds/rickandmortysins
Summary: Ten years have come and gone since Rick’s sudden disappearance. His family wants to move on, but Morty wants Rick back. He cries foul play, but he’s the only one. How is he so sure? Well. Between Rick’s enemies and his irrational attachments, they planned to explore space together after Morty’s graduation. A chance meeting may be all Morty needs to kickstart his journey to save Rick. But, it doesn’t stop there. To maintain peace, they’ve got to finish what Rick started all those years ago. There’s about 80 years left of Rick and Morty, and the clock’s still running.With lovely art from the lovelier schwify-rick.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This work was done in collaboration with [schwifty-rick](http://schwifty-rick.tumblr.com/) to whom I am incredibly grateful for their patience, help, and encouragement. They are a wonderful artist as well. Please follow them on tumblr, you will not regret it.

 

**without you, life in technicolor: part i/v**

.

Morty wakes up by parts. His smell first, then his hearing, then his vision. But, no matter how, his body knows truth before he even knows himself. Rick is still missing.

He allows himself a moment to curl around the thin blankets before surrendering to the coolness of Rick’s old room. He throws off the covers, stretching, easily reaching the edges. Opening his eyes, the wall of schematics and bits from old adventures remain untouched since the day he disappeared, and Morty has no intention of changing it just because he’s back in town for the moment.

His mother wasn’t too concerned with Rick’s absence back then— _it wouldn’t be the first time, Morty_ —until Rick’s space ship crashed into their front lawn, portal gun broken as the man holding it. She stops going to her therapist after that, and Morty accepts he lost her that day, too.

But, Rick is only missing, he convinces himself.

Throughout their adventures, Rick taught him he can’t always believe what he sees woven into paradoxical lessons involving impossible sights. He doesn’t know who was in the ship, but it wasn’t his Rick.

There is a funeral, though, and he cries at that.

There is someone out there who wants him to think Rick is dead, and until he can find Rick again, he will let them think he believes them.

Still, seven years is a long time to be holding onto a belief when his only evidence is a lack thereof.

In seven years, a family has the time to grieve and accept, but instead, in seven years, Morty works on his doctoral thesis.

Of course, he grieves and then some. It’s the acceptance for which he drags his feet. There is a nagging feeling of wrongness that weighs down his chest, keeps him from achieving peaceful release from the memories that haunt him. The nagging feeling—and Summer’s insistence (she’s back too, arrived with dramatic airs, he’s sure)—is what brings him back to town, to his childhood home.

He is twenty seven, but he feels fourteen again in this room.

He’s careful not to touch too much, not out of respect but out of fear of tripwires. Normally, Rick is good about letting him know where is safe and where isn’t, but sometimes Rick gets distracted and forgets that Morty can’t actually read his mind.

There is a knock on his door as his feet touch the ground. It is hesitant but firm. It doesn’t wait for a response. Summer steps through from behind the door, the only other one brave enough to do so.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he grumbles.

The grey overlay to the deep blue drape of her dress reminds him of the smoky atmosphere of the planet Shikar as its sun comes over the horizon. During a moment of honesty between the siblings, Summer confided she gained inspiration for her designs from Morty’s stories of his and Rick’s adventures. Morty believes it. He won’t admit it, but he’s as invested in his sister’s career as she is. He’s kept an eye on her, and he’s proud of what she’s been able to accomplish, especially given that this was a girl who once said she would _run away and_ _do something with turquoise_ at seventeen.

She leans against the door, brushing her hands against the skirt of the dress. “Thanks for coming back.”

They are much closer than before, but he knows she feels guilty for leaving him to deal with their parents even before Rick left. God, his mind needs to catch up. He says _left_ as if Rick had gone on a milk run. “Wasn’t doing much.”

“Look,” she breathes. “I know you hate being here, but they’ve actually gotten better. Well, not completely better, but they’re trying. And, it’s like, maybe if you were here more often, Mom would snap out of it.”

Their mother remains, however, a long-lasting point of contention between brother and sister.

At his silence, Summer sighs in exasperation. “Okay, fine, but she misses him, too, you know. He was her dad first.”

He nods, not much for morning conversation.

“Yeah, I know. Stupid point. Whatever. You want breakfast?”

“Shoney’s still around?”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, sure. I’ll buy. Five minutes?”

Morty spares a small smile; she can certainly afford it.

Door closing behind her, Morty continues his stretches facing the wall above the bed, eyes focused on the mismatched papers pinned directly into the drywall. He snorts at the sketch of a Mr. Meseek, remembering the mishaps. Changing into simple pair of jeans and a shirt, Morty contemplates all the times Rick got defensive when asked about the wall. It was the least technological way of keeping track of their adventures and his inventions, and Morty knew if Rick wanted to do better, he could with minimal effort. Rick always lied and said that minimal effort was still effort, and he had better things to do, but Morty would bet a damned anally inserted megaseed that it was because Rick was a sentimental bastard and doing things the old-fashioned way probably gave him some sort of cheap thrill.

It was the same thing with the hokey portal gun design and rundown space ship.

Later, as he sits across the uncomfortable booth from Summer and he tells her the same old stories, he thinks he might be going crazy.

.

He’s in a bad mood for the rest of the day, and the bad energy streaks into nighttime, too.

He sits up in bed to stare at the wall. His hand darts out over a rare photograph taken at Blips and Chitz and drops it. He repeats the motion twice more before practically throwing himself out of bed for a drink.

The lights stay off; he knows his way well enough.

He might be going crazy, he thinks. But admitting it means he wasn’t actually crazy, right?

He looks off to the side and notices the edges of the door leading off of the kitchen to the garage are backlit, fluorescent.

He hasn’t been to that part of the house since Rick’s disappearance; it’s where Beth stores the hunk of junk space ship, and it’s where most of his and Rick’s adventures began and ended. It hurts to be so near it, and he wants to walk away and turns to do so but a terrible buzzing fills his head, makes him lose focus.

He finds himself on the kitchen floor, clutching an empty glass. He takes a kitchen rag and mops the area. He pours himself a new glass of milk this time and drinks deeply from it. After rinsing the glass, he heads back to Rick’s room.

The next few nights, he finds himself in a terrible routine, and with each night, the buzzing seems to get more aggressive.

One night, a little under week into his stay, he’s had enough. He haphazardly knocks loose some tacks on the wall and pricks himself as he gets out of bed. He thinks of the last time he got a tetanus shot but nothing more of it.

The light from the garage door is no longer alluring but now mocking. He hears laughter coming through the door, and again thinks he _must_ be going crazy until he hears the laughter again.

The loud hum turns angry but not as angry as he is as he approaches the door. His anger clears his mind, frees it to act, and he throws the door open.

The pair within the garage stare at him, and he stares back.

He almost cries hysterically because he sees himself and Rick, but it’s not him. It couldn’t be him, and it’s not Rick either.

He doesn’t know when he starts crying, but his face is suddenly wet against his father’s shirt.

“Morty?”

His father’s voice is not as soon as it once was, but he takes large gulps of air to try to force his nerves into calming.

“Morty, what’s wrong?”

A glance in the other man’s direction is all it takes.

“Jerry, maybe I should go, huh?”

Displeased, Jerry does not object but does not agree either. He takes a step back to give his son breathing space.

His voice comes out hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s my friend,” Jerry challenges, but his eyes aren’t on Morty; they’re on Doofus Rick.

Morty’s broken mind tries to reconcile the words with the image presented in front of him. For half a second, he believes Doofus Rick and Jerry are _together_ together. Maybe they are; he doesn’t feel the need to explore that thought, though, for his own fragile sanity.

“I should go.”

“No!” Jerry whines.

“No,” Morty intones.

He knows where the niggling feeling is coming from now. For all the differences between the Ricks, they all agree the secret to their portal gun was not to fall to anyone else’s hands. The few times a portal gun was broken in the past, a team of Ricks always came to check the situation. No one came for Rick that time.

He dives for the gun just as Doofus Rick springs back.

“Morty!”

“Go to Mom, Dad.”

“Morty, what are you doing?”

“Gee, Morty. It was nice seeing you again. I better get going.”

Doofus Rick darts again out of grasp and through a familiar green portal, not waiting for a reply.

His father comes up behind him, confused. “What was that?”

“You have to get him to come back, Dad.”

“Why?” He’s immediately suspicious.

“He knows something I don’t.”

“Way to be cryptic, son.”

“I need to know, Dad. I need to know.”

“What is it?”

“I need to know if he knows where Rick is.”

.

If Morty could be grounded, he’s sure his father would have tried.

They yell and holler and fight more than ever.

Jerry reacts fairly well given the situation, he supposes. It’s a lot to spring on a man, to discover that his only son still believes his grandfather to be alive seven years after the fact, a man who thought him to be the lowest of the low and unworthy of his family and a deadbeat.

“Pass the butter,” Morty says to the table.

It’s closer to his father, but Summer takes it upon herself to do it, picking up on the tension.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, little bro.”

His mother tops off her glass. “So, what’s next for you, honey?”

He shrugs, “More research.”

“Aww,” she dotes, “Following in your grandfather’s foosteps?”

“Yeah, Mom. Just like Rick.”

They share an uneasy moment, but the conversation kind of dies there.

Until it doesn’t.

“You know, Rick wasn’t all that great,” his father blusters. “I remember a certain time when we were hunted down by a bunch of aliens just because we knew the guy!”

“Don’t be a dick, Jerry.”

“God, Dad. Total dick move. Move on already.”

He pulls at his hair, teeth clenced, “Someone has to say it!”

“You don’t speak ill of the dead, Dad.”

“Well, I’m sorry that after all these years I’m still playing second fiddle to a man who once almost let us all _die_!”

“That’s not a real apology. _Why_ are you yelling?”

“It wasn’t meant to be! I’m not yelling. I’m just—We almost had to live the rest of our lives on a miniature version of Earth for God’s sake.”

“Why are you even bringing this up now?”

“Because our son still believes he’s alive!” Jerry doesn’t spare him a glance, and he, in turn, doesn’t flinch.

However, his mother gapes at him before breaking down, face in her hands, knocking over her and Summer’s glasses.

Summer is quick to her side. “Jesus, Dad. You asshole!”

“Great job, Dad.”

“You do! You do! Damn it, you do! Why can’t you just let it go?”

“Why can’t you?” he throws back.

“He took you all away from me once, and he’s still doing it. _You_ try having a family, and you tell me how I’m supposed to feel.”

“This isn’t about how _you_ feel!”

“I’m your father!”

“Then act like it.”

And, it’s as if Morty’s words drained him of his energy. His shoulders hunch, and his knees hit the edge of his seat. “I—I’ve been trying for 30 years.”

Morty releases his own anger with a shaky sigh. “I-I need to talk to Doofus Rick, Dad. Can you do that for me? Just to talk.”

Jerry stutters at the request. “His name is Rick J19 Zeta 7.”

“Dad!”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t want to,” he admits.

“You asked him?”

“Of course I asked.”

“But he said no.”

“I’ll keep asking him.”

He’s speechless with the new information and retreats back to Rick’s room, but his steps are unsure now that—well, he was just so sure he could read his family so well before.

.


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to [schwifty-rick](http://schwifty-rick.tumblr.com/) for the beautiful art!

**without you, life in technicolor: part ii/v**

.

It comes as a shock when a month later, Morty finds Doofus Rick at his university apartment a few states over.

“You should be nicer to Jerry, Morty,” is the first thing out of his buck-toothed mouth.

“I know. Come in,” he says in response.

Conceding that Morty inherited the same single minded focus as his grandfather—eventually—, Doofus Rick stepped through the doorway and made himself comfortable on the living room sofa. Morty takes the recliner.

“Water? Tea? Coffee?”

“None, thank you.”

And, it’s weird. It’s weird that he looks like Rick but acts nothing like him. Still, he doesn’t want Doofus Rick here for his company. He wants answers. “Is Rick really dead?”

He looks like he wants to lie, so Morty changes his question. “Is Rick C137—Is _my Rick_ dead?”

“I don’t know.”

He feels cool down to his soul. “So he’s alive.”

“No, Morty, I just don’t know.”

“Th-then that Rick that died… that wasn’t Rick?”

Doofus Rick tilts his head downward in acknowledgement.

“Then who? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“What _do_ you know?”

“Rick wanted me to protect you if he ever went missing. That’s it.”

“Wh-what?” He splutters. “Why would he—did he—did he know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why you?”

“I don’t know, Morty,” and Doofus Rick looks torn.

At his honest expression, Morty presumes to know why his Rick would choose him for the job. He could trust no other Rick if he could even trust a Rick at all.

“How exactly are you protecting me?”

“I visit a lot. Or I try to. Mostly before I have play dates with Jerry.”

“Is this—is this about the _Morty_ waves?” He rolls his eyes at the concept.

“It’s about making sure you’re hidden and safe.”

“From what?”

“I really don’t know. The other Ricks don’t tell me much.”

“Other Ricks are involved?”

“Maybe? I don’t talk to many people aside from your dad.”

“It was a set-up, you know. It has to be.”

“I don’t doubt you’d know best, Morty. You’re as smart as any Rick.”

“I don’t understand why, though.”

“They must really not want you to look for your Rick.”

“Yeah, but who’s they?”

“Beats me, Morty. I’m not as good as the other Ricks with the scheming stuff.”

He wants Doofus Rick to leave, clearly unable to provide him the information he needs, until he remembers his research.

“Stay right there,” he demands.

Doofus Rick doesn’t move, but he keeps an eye on him anyway, walking backwards out of the room in a rush. He comes back with an armload of papers and tosses them onto the low coffee table. He’s not any more gentle as he spreads them in front of Doofus Rick.

Gingerly, he unrolls a roll. “Is this...?”

“The formula for dark matter? Yeah. Don’t worry; I’m not publishing this.”

Despite not being like the other Ricks, it seems Doofus Rick is still invested in keeping family secrets a secret. It must have been a constant Rick trait to keep their inventions purely to themselves.

“But that’s not what I wanted to show you.” He finds a schematic in the middle of the pile and pulls out, laying it on top for Doofus Rick to see. “This. I need your help with this.”

His theoretical work on dark matter is how he got his doctorate, but the portal gun is his passion. Once he unlocks interdimensional travel, he’ll be able to search for Rick in earnest. It would be a crude recreation of the portal gun, but he knows it’ll work. It just needs a power source capable of handling the strain of interdimensional travel.

Doofus Rick’s eyes turn into saucers, but he is not surprised. “This is beautiful, Morty. You’re so smart.”

“Not that smart. I’m missing something,” he challenges. “A power source.”

He seems to be fighting something in himself, and Morty is careful not to push him one way or another. He knows how Doofus Rick will eventually take pity on him. He just isn’t willing to take bets on exactly when. It could be today or it could be another visit when his guilt finally forces his hand.

Fortunately, it is Morty’s lucky day. If he were one to believe in that kind of thing.

Doofus Rick finds his resolve and meets his gaze.

“Did you know most Ricks used to work for the government?”

“No,” he states. He knows Doofus Rick will get to the point eventually, he just wishes he’d get there sooner.

“It was a long time ago. Us Ricks were probably in our early twenties. We worked for the government, but sometimes they made us do outside contracts with the Galactic Federation.”

“But we hate them!” he blurts.

“It was a _long_ time ago. Before all the bad stuff.”

“Before the war?”

“The war,” he shakes his head. “Earth wasn’t much then. No one really paid that much attention to us, but we had tons of resources the Gromflomites liked. I’m sure you could tell but the formula and design for the portal gun isn’t hard—,” Morty snorts at that, “—but we had trouble finding a power source, too.”

“How’d you solve it back then?”

“We didn’t.”

“Th-then what happened?”

“The Gromflomites heard we were working on interdimensional travel, more accessible and maneuverable than the current technology at the time. They knew we needed a power source. So, they told us they could help us find one if we did something for them. We made some mistakes, Morty, but we did them. And, the Gromflomites were happy, and they told us we could get the raw materials to make a power source on this deserted planet. Or, that’s what they told us.

“We—that is, each Rick was surrounded by natives the moment he stepped down on the planet, and the Galactic Federation ship that we were on stranded us.”

“They set you up?”

“I don’t know. They might’ve really needed some stuff from there.”

“How did you escape?”

“The Ricks weren’t how they were like now. They didn’t carry weapons, and they didn’t expect an ambush. So, we got captured,” he smiles at the memory, pausing, “That’s when we met Squanchy and Birdperson.”

“What were they doing on the planet?”

“They were rebels.”

[ ](http://schwifty-rick.tumblr.com/)

“Working against the natives?”

“Working _with_ the natives. Working _against_ the Galactic Federation that was trying to exploit their planet. Squanchy and Birdperson were part of a rebellion force that helped the natives organize counterattacks against the Federation so they wouldn’t lose their homes. We begged Squanchy and Birdperson to believe that we weren’t part of the Federation and we weren’t trying to hurt the natives, and they eventually did. We owe them our lives.”

Morty marvels at the differences between the Rick that Doofus Rick was telling him about and the Rick he grew up knowing. There was a point when the Ricks changed, and he thinks he has a feeling when.

“We got to go back home safely, and boy, were we mad,” he chuckled nervously. “The Federation didn’t apologize, and our own government didn’t care. That’s why we quit and never told them that, before we left, Squanchy got the natives to give us some of Isotope-322.”

His mind fixates, reaching for something that sparks in his mind and eventually travels down to the tip of his tongue. Then, he’s got it. A worshipped rock protected in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. “That’s what the green goo is?! Isotope-322?”

Doofus Rick squawks at his colloquial term for such a scientific breakthrough--a Rick’s magnum opus--such as portable interdimensional travel but keeps telling his story. “Yeah. But, by the time Squanchy could get us home, it was already two years. When most of the Ricks got back home, their Dianes had already moved on.”

“Mom never mentioned.”

“We never showed our faces. Or, that’s what the other Ricks told me. There’s probably a few Ricks that did and a few that tried to reunite with their families. When I left on the mission, I had a Diane but no Beth, but I sure wish we did,” he remarks sadly. “Then, I might have had my own Morty, like you, and a Jerry as a son.”

“What happened after?”

“We finished the portal gun and went back to Squanchy and Birdperson to fight the Federation.”

“That’s it? What about now? How do I get Isotope-322? We saw some in an alternate dimension before, but I think Rick--,” he trails off. Flatly, he concludes, “He stole it. Rick stole it. There’s Isotope-322 in the garage, isn’t there?”

Doofus Rick shrugs.

Holding his sides together, he keeps the laughter contained, “Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome, Morty. I’m happy to help.” He’s anxious to leave, but before he goes, he lingers at Morty’s door. “Do you know what the most important thing to a Rick is, Morty?” He tries to convey the answer with his eyes, but Morty doesn’t catch on.

“No,” he says honestly.

And, despite not having an answer for him, Doofus Rick is undeterred and beams at him. As farewell, he wishes him well, “Stay safe, Morty. Rick wouldn’t like it if something bad happened to you.”

“Thanks for your help, Rick. See you around.”

He thinks about what Doofus Rick says long after he’s gone.

.

Morty takes an unexpected trip home. Summer is south for the winter—somewhere in sunny California—, but Beth welcomes him, ecstatic to see him home. He doesn’t quite thank Jerry for leading Doofus Rick his way, but he doesn’t snap at him so much either.

After retrieving Isotope-322 from the hidden lab underneath the garage, it takes Morty a half year of research to stabilize it from its raw form and transform it into something usable. Each failure reminds him that Rick could figure it out within minutes, but Morty is motivated by more than outdoing Rick.

A year after that, he’s got something worth testing, and he does so with some apples. Later, when it appears safe, he tests out the portal gun technology on some squirrels, smirking at their indignation. It’s almost expected that when he personally tests it out, it goes smoothly.

.

It’s a few odd days of waiting in the dark for Doofus Rick to visit his father; he wants to show him what he’s accomplished with his help. He’s about to give up when the familiar glow returns. He pulls the door open with the portal gun trembling in his hand, excitement radiates through his body at the idea of being able to present an invention to Doofus Rick.

Only, there is no Rick of any dimension. He’s crushed in more ways than he thinks he might have hope for.

However, there is his father.

“Dad? What are you doing here? Where’s Doofus Rick?”

Jerry slumps forward from his crosslegged position. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? When do you usually see him?”

“A few times a week? He calls first so I’m not asleep when he comes.”

“How?”

“Some science phone thing,” he guesses.

“Did you ever call him?”

“Never.” Jerry whimpers in distress. “You think there’s something wrong?”

“When’s the longest time you haven’t seen him before?”

“I don’t know. Two days?”

Skeptically, Morty mentions, “What about that second honeymoon with Mom for, like, a week in Hawaii last year?”

“I’m not on trial here!”

“ _Dad_ ,” he admonishes, chest tightening all the while. “You don’t think he’s in trouble, do you?”

“No, no. Sometimes, sometimes… sometimes, he would be late. Doing things for his work.”

“The Citadel?”

“Maybe?” Jerry shrugs.

Morty decides not to press the issue. It isn’t worth it. His anger at his father is misdirected. Before he retreats back to Rick’s room to wait for morning, he says, “Thanks for getting Doofus Rick to help me.”

“Couldn’t help you with your science fair project, but asking for favors? I can do that.” A slight smile returns but then drops immediately before he asks, “He’s okay, right, son?”

.

Morty extends his home visit for a few more weeks. Summer pops in once to say hi, and it’s nice. He shows her what he’s been up to and tells her of his plans.

He wants to find Squanchy, one of Rick’s oldest and perhaps only living friend.

Although it might be faster to do so, he doesn’t want to fix the space ship to go planet-hopping. Hours in a small ship without Rick was much too much. So instead, he goes through Rick’s old things to find codes to use for the portal gun. He pockets a few other odd and ends from their adventuring days. The automatic translator will be useful; a Blips and Chitz raffle coin will not.  

He traces back the encrypted geotags of a picture from a wedding that was better off forgotten to get to Squanch. He doesn’t dare hope to find Squanchy there, but maybe someone friendly can point him in the right direction.

.

He doesn’t find anyone friendly on Squanch. Instead, he finds hostiles and earns a few claw marks down his back for the effort.

.

He’s frustrated to hell and back. As intelligent as Rick is, he’s old enough to realize that Rick doesn’t know everything. He can’t know the coordinates for each planet in space across all of the universes in the continuum. It’s impossible. His mind would break. Morty’s mind is alreaady _swimming_ just thinking of the sheer brainpower it would require.

(A small part of him protests.)

As much as he’s progressed and grown without Rick, he knows what he must do.

There are no fruitful schematics, but there is a copy. A very close copy.

It’s why he’s standing on top of an imposter’s burial grounds, knee deep in settled ground, shovel in his hands. He’s got a long way to go, but he’s going to dig as deep as he needs to.

.

Rick’s portal gun design is as he remembered it.

Broken, though it is, presumably on impact.

This time, Morty’s not interested in functionality. He can get it working again. And, once he does, he’s going to strip down the design and work it into his own.

He takes a long shower that night before setting out on his task.

.

It takes four months as he pours over the crude yet elegant coding.

It’s another two months after that that he works up the nerve to try again following one disasterous attempt.

He doesn’t splice a second time.

.


	3. iii

**without you, life in technicolor: part iii/v**

.

Amicar has no natural sun, he soon discovers, stepping onto the planet. The trusted scientists on Amicar simulate night and day, the weather, seasons through what essentially amounts to a focal mirror, borrowing sunlight from the nearest solar system. Naturally, they can only sustain life in certain areas, a marked drop off in life at the capital city limits. Curfew is at 9PM when they gradually have the sunlight fade, ending exactly at 10PM. The people are cordial and either ignore Morty or ask him if he’s lost. Most have never seen a human before and are delighted to finally meet one. When they’re not asking him if he needs directions, they ask him how Earth got its name. By the sixth explanation, he catches onto their smug expressions, previously hidden by the whiskers that hand low from their front lips. So, his story gets wilder and wilder with each answer. 

“We call it Earth because the square root of pi is exactly two,” he says the third time being asked within five minutes. For an advanced civilization such as the Amicarans, they look as if he’s slapped their mothers and kicked their dogs. 

After the first few hurdles, it’s relatively easy to find Squanchy. Each Amicaran citizen is registered to the government system, and each recent visitor is kept under surveillance as well  _ for dissidents _ a young Amicaran whispers to him. 

He asks how long they would consider recent, the young Amicaran tells him seven years, which roughly is equivalent to thirty six Earth years. It throws into perspective the true age of the Amicaran helping him. 

When he gets Squanchy’s address after feigning Earth ignorance, he quickly sets off to find Squanchy. He thinks the portal gun is already starting to malfunction, but he has more than a feeling there’s interference running around this planet, almost creating a weak Faraday cage over the populace. 

The horror. 

Based on the advertisements, his suspicions are confirmed. The population is very heavily weather-focused. He figures it makes sense; it must have been terrible to live through the death of a star. 

Asking the over-eager locals for help, he’s directed to a dwelling above a bar. 

He doesn’t want to draw attention, but perhaps that might be too late. It’s a wonder no one’s come to take him away for not having travel papers. To his credit, he doesn’t think their forms would have the standard checkboxes for his kind of travel and transportation. 

On the wrong side of the door with no Squanchy answering his impatient doorknocks, he contemplates portaling to the right side. And, he remembers grocery runs with him, Rick, and the portal gun. 

He’s saved from his however long dilemma by blunt force trauma to the back of his head, causing him to pass out. 

.

When he wakes up, he gets a face full of paw and claw. 

He speaks muffles into the mattered fur. “Squanchy?”

The Squanchy in front of him is visibly shaken by the encounter. “Morty?”

Spitting out some fur, he replies, “Yeah. How ya been, buddy?”

That earns him a slap across his cheekbone. 

“Well, fuck you too, I guess.”

“Where have you been?”

“Home, you?”

“Fucking hell,” he laughs, voice pitched high. 

He cuts to the quick of the situation. “I’m here to find Rick. Was hoping you could help.”

His expression shifts suddenly, jaundiced eyes narrowing. “You don’t know?”

“Should I?”

Squanchy lets him up from where he’s literally holding him against his will. 

“Come on. It’s not safe to squanch here.”

“Then why live here where it’s not safe?”

“There’s about 500 square miles of civilization on this planet. The rest is squanch. That explain things?”

.

He tucks the portal gun into his waistband of his jeans as he follows Squanchy through a hidden exit and hopes he doesn’t accidentally send his dick off to any other universe. 

.

Morty can tell it takes a lot of trust against sense of preservation for Squanchy to share his map of Amicar just before they cross from light to no light, just in case he gets lost--he never specifies if Morty should take a defensive approach or not and what he needed to fear in uninhabited space. The special quality of  _ his _ map being that it was drawn on plain paper and displayed the few and scattered apparent holdouts of rebels outside capital city limits. 

Morty shivers into the darkness. It’s at least twenty degrees cooler where Squanchy is leading him. 

He’s taken to a smaller hideout just a mile beyond the edges of city concrete; he still sees the artificial light behind them as he walks further into the undeveloped areas. The difference between city and non-city on Amicar is the difference between an industrialized planet and jungle. There is no life here that Morty can recognize, no creature having evolved the ability to live without sunlight. 

Squanchy is right; with the Amicars having no desire to leave the city, there is no regulation where they are, making it convenient for those who wish to hide or have something to keep hidden. 

As they go through yet another hidden door, this one protected by a two-factor authentification, both voice and breath, Squanchy begins to explain the rebels mainly consisted of ‘fugitives’ who fought against the Federation and the unfortunate sympathizers whom were deemed too dangerous to go unnoticed under the Federation’s rule. Of course, with the Federation officially going defunct approximately ten years ago following Rick’s destabilization of their economy, they should be safe to come out from hiding. However, lifetimes of experience made them cautious, even now, and rightly so. The Federation is not as dead as the rest of the universe might believe. 

When the Federation retreated from Earth, not all planets were keen on overthrowing the Federation, having grown fat from its taxing and colonization of the designated ‘weaker’ planets. It is in the endless pools of newly displaced workers and disgruntled proletariot on these planets that the Federation find loyal servants and sponsors.

Growing from the ashes and learning from the mistakes of the old Federation, these people find ways to operate leaner and with a decided cruelty that not even the corruption of the old Federation could match. There is little to no politicking, just power. 

“But where’s Rick?” he asks from across the table. Overhead, he notices a similar map to the one Squanchy used to navigate them. It feels like the strategy room. 

“We thought he was with you lying low. We thought he was a coward.”

Morty is disturbed. “I think Rick was captured.”

He thinks for a moment, “Better dead than a coward.”

Sqaunchy doesn’t so much as flinch as Morty’s fist meets his snout. 

“Guess we’re even,” he acquiesces, leaving it at that.

“It’s been ten years since I last saw Rick.”

Squanchy scratches his chin, twisting the matted fur there. “That long…”

“I’m trying to figure out who did it and save him.”

His eyes narrow, pupils turning to slits. “The last time any of us heard from Rick, I was getting his help with a retrieval.”

“What were you retrieving?”

“It’s personal.”

“I don’t care if he was getting back your bird-sized dildo. You have to tell me, Squanchy. It might help me find Rick.”

Squanchy leans back in his chair. “If it does, then all you need to know is the new Federation is involved, and if they are, Rick’s really better off dead.”

The conversation dies, and Morty is escorted to an open clearing not too far from the base and given coordinates to a pickup location for the hideout he just visited. Squanchy explains that Rick found it easiest to portal from this spot. He is also given explicit instructions to contact Squanchy if he finds himself in trouble, an intergalactic communicator thrust into his hands. 

“It’s encrypted to our channels only,” he says when Morty tries to refuse the gift. 

He thanks Squanchy as he goes, says goodbye to the solitary guard and only other sentient being he sees in the hideout. He thinks it might be lonely on Amicar and resolves to stay in touch.

.

The first red flag is Squanchy doesn’t return his calls for over a week. They’ve talked about every other day, sometimes more when Squanchy has the time. When they talk, he feels less lonely. 

He takes a chance to portal directly into the base using memory and confirms it multi-dimensional calculations. He prays anyway that he doesn’t lose an arm. It’s almost a clean landing, but his back hits the table in the strategy room before he can right himself. It’s more successful than he’s been the last few times, one time of note landing on top of Squanchy, and it’s good practice. He’s come far to overcome the disruption from the planet’s natural magnetic fields. 

The second red flag is the empty base. There is always at the one guard at the base, whom Morty usually leaves a message with if Squanchy isn’t there. 

“Hello?” he calls out, but it’s hardly necessary. This base has just the one ground floor, barely five rooms, including the antechamber to get in through the front. 

There is no one here, and the map matching Squanchy’s that hung in the strategy room is gone, too. 

Familiar hopelessness gathers in his chest, constricts his heart. 

Breathing deeply, he scans the area, flooding it in orange light. The scanner beeps when it’s ready, revealing a mix of alien DNA; Gromflomite DNA stands out amongst them. 

Morty recoils at the thought of Squanchy and his rebel allies falling into the hands of the Federation. Struck with horror, he portals back home to grab the emergency bag of tactical gear Squanchy recommends he have. Morty was humoring him at the time, thinking he had enough time to plan a more strategic attack on the Federation, but his time table just moved way up. 

For the time being, Morty doesn’t have the capabilities to portal onto the vague idea of a Federation base that he’s never been to or even seen, so he instead portals to his childhood home, specifically the garage. 

The space ship is where he last saw it, in the same exact condition as any of them saw it. 

Thus, he’s forced to put work into repairs, and he loses another ten precious hours, but it’s done. 

He picks up a few things from Rick’s lab before he goes, snatching a spare lab coat and a few other items off the assault weapons wall. 

Sitting in the driver’s seat feels odd, but he bears it. 

Hesitating, he asks, “Computer?”

“Yes, Morty?” it responds in a feminine lilt. 

“Lock in on Squanchy’s DNA and set a course.”

“Yes, Morty.”

He doesn’t have to be a geniius or even the grandchild of a genius to recognize the trap. Still, he goes. Instincts tell him he’s getting closer to an answer. 

.

When the space ship signals approaching destination in approximately one hour, Morty uses the viewfinder to look ahead. 

The ship is locked onto another nondescript but still obviously imposing ship that almost certainly has its cloaking shields up; the ship has never had as hard a time as now maintaining image quality. 

He slows down and takes over manually, but doesn’t turn on his own cloaking. It’s an intimidation tactic he learned from Rick. Hidden plans aren’t nearly as disturbing or panic-inducing as hidden thoughts. 

He glides the ship into the landing dock that opens to receive him. 

Without thought, he uses a laser gun to take out the young Gromflomite working the landing area alone, knowing eyes are on him. From there, he goes down and down and down. 

There are no arrows that point his way, but there is nothing in his path either. He’s about five floors down from his entry point when he finds Squanchy in a cell. 

The door is easy enough to disarm, and Squanchy stares sadly at him. 

“It’s a trap,” he whispers, voice hoarse from dehydration and disuse. 

“I know. Come on.”

Morty doesn’t have a spare second before hearinng the whir of a laser gun gathering energy. 

“Told you,” Squanchy laughs.

“Shut up, Squanchy. I know.”

“Morty.”

“Tanya,” he says, pulling out his own laser. 

She splutters, “It’s  _ Tammy _ .”

He ignoes her indignance; the figure to her side catches his eye. He tilts his head to the side in feigned nonchalance. “Hi, Birdperson. Thought you were dead.”

“Wha--Pers? I knew it! I knew it! I told Rick all the time. I knew it!” He tries to launch himself forwards, but the weight and shortness of chains around his ankles keep him down, and he almost falls over until Morty steadies him. “You’re really here.”

The personal retrieval mission Rick was supposedly sent on suddenly makes more sense. Rick’s willingness, Squanchy’s tightlippedness. In the midst of the revelation, Morty feels a stab of resentment strike through him, but he shakes it off. Squanchy and Birdperson are Rick’s closest friends, and he doubts Rick could be persuaded into doing anything he didn’t want. If Squanchy hadn’t asked, Rick would’ve wanted to do it anyway. 

“ _ Hello _ , I’m not done talking.”

“Hi, I’m not done talking. I thought you were ‘Tammy.’”

“Alright, fuck it. Phoenix Person--”

“Phoenix Person? Ain’t that a mouthful,” he interjects as he plans an escape route, “But, you’d know all about that, right, Tiffany?”

“I could kill you now,” she places a hand on her hip, “No questions.”

“Then do it,” he dares.

“Phoenix Person, you heard him.”

In the back of Morty’s mind, he knows birds are fast, and yet, he isn’t quite prepared for the speed of a human-sized birdperson. It is a bit terrifying to have a mass of feathers rush him at once, too, so he stumbles to get out of the way, forgets to protect Squanchy as he dodges. 

Squanchy yells out in pain, head bouncing against the concrete floor in the 8 x 8 ft prison. It’s so small a fit for the four of them that Morty crams himself against the wall to avoid collateral damage, laser still trained on Birdperson. 

“Phoenix Person, stop.”

“Do you have to say his name every time?”

“Normally, I just say ‘hey, asshole,’ but I thought I’d be more specific with you two around.”

“You okay, Squanchy?”

“Pers,” he beseeches, ignoring Morty. “You remember me, buddy?”

“Sorry not sorry. We had to do some irreversible damage to his hippocampus while we  _ fixed _ him.”

“You bitch.”

She grinned, “Tammy, please. It’s better you learn it now.”

“Or what?”

“How cliche do you think I’m going to get here? A monologue? Are you planning to stall for time? Let me tell you something, you little creep. This is the Federation flagship, the NFS Pasiphae.”

Morty burst out laughing at the declaration, unable to help himself.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” she asked, genuinely confused.

“NFS Pasiphae. Did they name it after you… or?”

“Why? What about it?”

“If you don’t know, then I’m not going to tell you.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“I already told you to do it.”

“Fuck, how did you get more annoying?”

“Practice,” he shrugs, propping Squanchy up. “Had a lot of time on my hands what with you killing Rick and all.”

Her lips quirk upwards, signifying she’s got a secret, a poorly kept one, and his hypotheses are all but confirmed. 

“He’s not dead,” they reveal at the same time. 

“Jinx. God, you’re easy to read,” he provides. 

“Regardless,” she growls, patience thin. “You are on the NFS Pasiphae,” she ignores the poorly concealed chortles and whispers, “the Federation flagship. There will be no escape, no disobedience, no questions.”

“But, how will I know why I’m here?”

“What did I just say?”

Flippantly, he suggests, “Something about fucking a bull?”

“Phoenix Person?”

Morty is ready this time and breaks off in a roll, pushing Squanchy in the opposite direction. He confirms the laser is set to low before stunning Birdperson. He collapses in a heap of feathers, and Tammy is incredibly displeased. Morty’s a bit worried, himself, he’s never tried to stun anyone, always shooting to kill. 

He shoots Squanchy what he hopes is a reassuring glance. They will get out of here. They will leave with Birdperson, and everything will be okay. Then, they’re going to regroup and get Rick back. Wherever he is. 

He doesn’t achieve what he originally set out to do, but still somewhat does, gesturing at Squanchy to pick up Birdperson and head towards the portal he just opened up. Only, Tammy stands in place, and Morty quickly learns why she’s only standing there.

“He’s here, you know,” she tells him, in a way that leaves no room for interpretation as to ‘his’ identity.

“Morty, it’s a trap!” Squanchy warns before getting pushed through the portal. He’ll be safe, though, back in Amicar. He can do something about Birdperson, too.

“Either tell me what’s going on or I portal off this ship, and you never see me again.”

“You’re not really in any position in to make threats, don’t you think?”

“I think if you didn’t need me, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

“Fine. Whatever,” she moves to exit the cell. “Follow me.”

“I don’t want a tour.”

“You’ll take what I give you.” They walk in silence, up one floor, right, right, then left, and through sliding double doors. It’s a marginally bigger room than Squanchy’s but cleaner still. There’s a plain table with a mounted screen above it. She tells him, “You are here because any association to Rick Sanchez, fugitive, is a threat to the Federation. You are here because of him.” She brings up a video with a flick of her hand, practiced.

It’s a replay of Rick’s last moments on Earth, then to Squanchy, then to the Federation flagship. It’s at this part that Morty fights to keep himself from leaping out of his seat. 

On the screen, he sees Rick coming down a hall, cameras tracking his movements. Like Morty, he isn’t too concerned about his visibility as he moves through the ship, presumably searching for Birdperson. 

Coming across a lab of sorts, Birdperson is cuffed to a cot. When Rick goes to free Birdperson, Morty catches the moment when Rick realizes his mistake, shock--or is it betrayal--flashing across his face before rage could triumph over the other emotions. 

It is at that moment Birdperson, once uncuffed, throws Rick forward, slamming him against the ground. A flank of guards appear around him as he fastens the same cuffs from which he was just freed around Rick’s wrists. Soon after, a light envelops the footage, and Rick no longer resists, he’s either unconscious or… 

“A live Rick is a dangerous Rick,” she explains haughtily.

His heart skips erratically against his ribs. He mutters, “What did you do to him?”

“But,” she continues uninterrupted, “An uncooperative Rick, even more useless. We had to figure out how to make him a little more  _ malleable _ . We learned from past mistakes and moved on from that. We moved on… to you.”

“You think I’ll help you? You’re fucking crazy. Where’s Rick? What did you do to him?”

“Morty, let’s skip the casual villainy and get straight to it.”

He narrows his eyes in response. 

“You know we have your Rick Sanchez. He’s not dead, but he may as well be,” she pauses, “if you do not cooperate. All we ask is that you convince him to help us enslave the rest of the known universe.”

“Save the drama for drama class.”

“You will do it,” she affirms. 

“You wanted me so much you don’t care that Birdperson and Squanchy escaped? What if they’re planning a rescue right now?”

“By the time they even gather enough resources to mount any level of coutnerattack, you both will either be dead or we will have achieved our goals.” She adds, “If we are happy with the work produced, we might let you and the rest of Earth live in ignorance.”

He flattens his hand against the tabletop. “And, I’m supposed to decide now?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You have 24 hours. I think it’s safe to say that you so much as shit the wrong way, and he dies.” She bows her head, face covered by a fringe of hair, but he thinks he sees an upturn of her lips, “Hope you enjoy the accomodations.” She leaves the video of Rick’s last animated moments playing on the screen as she walks out. 

The room is under surveillance, he knows. He expects this. 

She didn’t even bother to disarm him, take away his portal gun. 

He wants hubris to be her downfall, but his mind is irrevocably clouded by the threat of Rick’s safety. 

.

In twelve hours, Tammy comes back to see him, “Time’s up,” she declares.

He doesn’t need to check anything to know she’s lying. So, he says instead, “I want proof you still have him, that he’s still alive.”

Seemingly prepared for this as well, Tammy swipes the screen over, ending the looped video and bringing up a still image.

It is Rick, just as he remembered him. 

His eyes held steadfastly closed.

“This could be from the last year,” he denies stubbornly. “I said I wanted proof. Have your guard raise up two fingers, then three, then one.”

Contemplating for a moment, she acquiesces after a moment, but he knows he does not have the upper hand here. She relays the message into her communicator located on her wrist. 

On screen, the guard moves to receive the message and does as told.

“Why isn’t he moving?”

“Stasis field.”

“Turn it off.”

At this, he can see the emotions plainly warring across her face. Speaking into her wrist, she speaks as if being challenged, “Turn off the stasis field. Five seconds. Any more and you will wish I could only fire you.”

The field holding him turns off immediately, and for five glorious seconds, Morty feels relief. Morty feels small. He feels like he’s Tiny Planet again, watching Rick leave, unable to stop him. But, there is no bag of tricks; there is only him and Rick. 

Then, the field turns on again, not really long enough for Rick to escape or Morty to achieve satisfaction with Rick’s being alive.

“I want more time.”

“You don’t have more time.”

“Give me the twelve hours you owe me.”

“Perhaps, I was foolish,” she begins, and Morty is on edge. “Foolish to think that either of you could be controlled. Maybe… you both should just die together.”

“You’re in charge here, Tammy. All I want is more time.”

“Fine. Twelve more hours,” again, she goes to leave, “Remember. Without your help, the revoultion will be a bloody one. With your help, it doesn’t have to be. I am prepared for war either way.”

Morty doesn’t know what to do. 

.

This time, it is six hours until he sees her again, and he’d be irked at the early appearances, but he could lose a lot of time watching Rick like this. 

He does not greet her or offer platitudes. Instead, he asks, because he really wants to know, “Why this Rick? Why my Rick?”

“It’s personal,” she rebukes.

Nodding, he tells her, “I will never help you.”

Here, she surprises him. “I didn’t actually think you would.” 

He waits for the other shoe to drop. Correct in his assumption, he does not have to wait long.

“I told my boss as much. Exactly what did you think I was doing while you were in here jacking off?” She goes to the screen again, and it’s then that he notices his mistake. It’s not that Rick was still from the stasis, it is that the feed had been frozen, and he never noticed. As she fixes the screen and accesses the proper feed, he sees that Rick is no longer in stasis. But, he’s not moving really moving around. His eyes stare blankly ahead, lips curled in displeasure.

He tries for nonchalance as his heart races and retorts, “Watching me jack off?”

“Yeah, that’s like six seconds I’ll never get back.”

There is a stretch of silence before Tammy breaks. “Aren’t you even a little curious?”

“You’re dying to tell me anyway, so just get on with it.”

“You are not the target, Morty. You are the bait.”

He snorts at her dramatics, tamping down the panic.

But, she continues without being prompted, “There is one way to ensure this Rick Sanchez’s cooperation, Morty, and that’s you. And, you handed yourself right on over to us. A few hours ago, I was showing Rick that we had you captured, and he crumbled. It wasn’t the torture or threats that got to him, Morty, it was you. How does that make you feel?”

“Like I want you to eat my ass, Tootie.”

“It’s Tammy!” She struggles to get herself back under control.

“Sure.”

“You’re going to maximum security prison, you know. I told him so, too.”

“Why not kill me now? Use your little tricks? Why fake his death?”

“Plans change. Not my call,” she hesitantly admits. “But, unlike you, he can see right through any trick. And, lucky for you, you get to live through all this.”

Her words sting, sharp and unforgiving only as the truth can be.

“Eat my ass, Tina. Eat my entire ass.”

He keeps both middle fingers up defiantly even as the guards come in and shackle his arms and legs. They knock him out for fun but not before he smashes his own portal gun. 

Better he ruin his chances of escaping than have its technology fall into their hands. 

.


	4. iv

**without you, life in technicolor: part iv/v**

**.**

Morty keeps his breathing under control as he wakes up, shackled and suspended against a flat metal slab. Whenever Rick would ramble about his time spent in maximum security, he never mentioned that the restraint around his middle wouldn’t be enough to keep him in place or how sore his arms and legs would be because of it. He was essentially hanging spread eagle in restraints. 

He strained to examine the tender flesh pressed against the cuffs, each point of contact felt bruised and impossibly raw. He looked around, wondering how the other prisoners were dealing with but saw no others. 

“Hello?” His voice echoed. 

He let his neck fall and regretted the decision, feeling the metal brace there as well.

.

Watching Morty on the screen but unable to reach out is Rick’s own private hell. 

Even with extra guards posted in the spacious lab, the Federation was careful to keep Rick’s ankles shackled and make moving that much more of a bitch. 

If Rick were there with him, he would tell Morty his talking was more pointless than usual. His worrying a nuisnace. He would find no company where they put him. This particular treatment was reserved especially for Morty. 

Those types of prisons fell out of favor along with the Old Federation. In fact, as Birdperson’s ex-jailbait ex-wife had informed him, she had located and refashioned parts of the old prison from which escaped to hold Morty. For nostlagia’s sake, she said. 

If Rick were there with him… 

He clenched his fist in and slammed it down on the table in disgust, his joints creaking from the essential reanimation he had undergone mere days ago after they woke him up to inform him of Morty’s capture and his expected capitlulation.

Peering out towards his guards, he notices their flinching, and it seems his reputation preceded him. 

He stays hunched over the table and continues to sketch out the schematics by hand, not allowed to use more technology than was necesary to complete his tasks. 

.

Some days--Morty assumes days have passed but it’s hard to tell as there is no way to tell time--there is occasionally a gromflomite guard who brings him little water and even less food. To eat without releasing him, the trays are brought to his face where he would lap up the nourishment, like the dogs that had left their universe years ago. 

At first, Morty resisted, refusing to lower himself and thinking someone--Rick--would save him from his predicament soon enough as he always does, but he doesn’t come. 

By the fourth count, with his stomach practically eating itself and his mind weakened, Morty caves, would have salivated over it if he were not already so dehydrated. 

Rather than see it as humiliation, Morty sees the act itself as defiance. He would survive this and he would still be able to save Rick, and they would be able to live happily together in defiance of the whole damn Federation. And, in their spare time, they would take their time to plan its second downfall. 

.

During a stretch of worried silence, Summer goes to her little brother’s apartment and finds it empty. No Morty and no clues as to where he might have gone. She hopes that for the way he up and disappeared on them, he at least found Rick. 

She doesn’t know what to tell their mother. 

.

“Sanchez, status report.”

Tammy walks into his space, and he scowls reflexively. While Morty’s been under their surveillance and  _ care _ , Rick is essentially unable to defy her for fear of his safety, and she flaunts that knowledge  as always with a smirk. 

She comes every week like clockwork demanding he build faster; she brings empty threats. 

“I am too old for this. I told you a week ago that I needed more time.”

“You don’t  _ have _ more time,” she gloats, playing her role. 

“S-sure just let me--just let me bend the natural laws of physics and get this fucking black hole in a box death trap working right away.”

“I thought I was talking to Rick Sanchez, not an amateur.”

He waves a wrench and grunts, “It’s at least another month.”

“Mm,” she hums, lips pursed together annoyingly, “I don’t think that’s going to work out too well... for anyone.”

“You touch him, and I will fucking activate what I do have right now.”

“Wow, you’re touchy.”

He huffs, “Y-you want it done or you want it done right? Because I can get this thing working right now, but the moment you detonate it, you better fucking hightail it to the next goddamn universe if you want to get away without… without,” he waves his wrench around in search for an appropriate threat, “without  _ dying _ , yeah.”

He could use a drink. 

“Fine, you have another week. Be grateful.”

“Yeah, I’m so fucking grateful to be here,” he mutters. “Skank.”

.

Outside his lab quarters, she turns to the guard posted there, “Keep an eye on him. He’s planning something.”

“Y-yes, ma’am--Sir, yes, sir.”

“And fix your teeth. You look like an idiot.”

He salutes her as she goes, heels clicking down the long hallway.

He lets out a long breath of relief. He’s worked hard to get to this point. 

.

A few days later, Rick wakes up from the little cot placed in the lab and notices a change to his guards. 

“What’s with the masks?” he asks, gripping the cold bars as he stands up to prepare for another day of toiling. “You guys all trying out for the same B sci-fi movie? 

“New detail,” the one at the door tells him in an obviously fake voice, artificially lowered as if Rick wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. 

He doesn’t mention it, though, just scoffs and waits for a guard to change his shackles from the bed to the lab table so he can get up to do his work. 

When the guard finally does, it feels looser than usual around his ankles; Rick thinks he must be really new. 

No one else says a word, but Rick can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something. 

He doesn’t put too much thought to it, preoccupied by more important matters. 

That day, and the days following, work goes by fairly smoothly, none of the new guys push him around too much, and it lets him focus. 

.

Three weeks and six days later, Rick escapes without much fuss except for the miniature hurricane he created, stemming from a cube at the center of the labs. 

Rushing down the hallway, Tammy demands answers and finds a single guard. 

“Where is he?”

“Don’t know,” the guard answers, appearing to be slightly concussed. The security tapes will show how Rick manages to overpower him. But, that detail isn’t enough to save him as Tammy peers into his eyes. 

“How did he escape?!”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are the others?”

“Don’t know that either, geez.”

At that, almost coldly, she asks, hand on the side of his face, “Why are you wearing a mask?”

“The aesthetic?” he squeaks.

Tearing it off, she snarls, furious. Instantly, she recognizes the face that’s mocked her endlessly, “You!”

“Hi?”

In her anger, she balls up her fist and punches the imtruder in his face.

However, the damage is done. 

Later, when she’s predictably forced off this plane, she takes her secrets with her. 

.

In a different area of the ship, Rick finds it isn’t easy using transwarp technology, and he laments the fact, missing his superior portal gun. Transwarp was only good for short range travel if you could even rig it properly, and you still ran the risk of being split.

More than that, you had to have a fucking concrete location in mind. Since he had no way of knowing where Morty was being kept, he resorted to sneaking around the ship. 

Floor by floor, he warped to each level, quickly going deeper and deeper until he found a large room similar to what he saw every day on his viewscreen watching Morty  _ exist _ .

Sprinting towards the center of the room, the lights flicker on behind him, activated by motion sensors, and when he makes it to the center, he pauses, filled with emotion by the sight. 

Morty hangs illuminated by the harsh fluorescent glow. 

And, Rick is shocked but not. He’s had months to get used to this older Morty, a Morty he did not get to grow old with or be there for. And, his hands shake, and that’s when he realizes he’s moving incredibly too slowly for their situation, and hits the release to Morty’s cuffs, arms around him before he falls. 

He’s slumped against him, and Rick holds him tightly for both their benefit.

“Rick?”

He doesn’t know what to say.

“Rick? Is it really you?”

“Yeah, Morty,” he manages, swallowing hard. 

“S’about fucking time, Rick.”

“I know, Mort.”

“I waited for you,” he mumbles. “For a long time.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Everyone thought you were dead.”

He doesn’t tell Morty that in the time he was trapped in stasis, he could still think and hear and suffer and wish that he were dead. Instead, he orders, “Hold onto me, Morty.”

He gets thin arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and he falters, thinking this is what happens to the people around him. He doesn’t dwell on it too much. He can’t afford to. 

They wrap all over the ship in search of an escape pod, avoiding a team of guards and finally finding a section of them in the upper levels, luck favoring them. It is a tight fit as the two jump into something meant only for one person, but they wordlessly agree to not separate. 

The planet he routes them to is where they ditch the pod. Morty doesn’t recognize the planet, and he doesn’t see much beyond the expansive concrete lot. 

From there, they catch a ferry to a nearby natural satellite, hitch a ride to yet another planet, and commandeer a civilian ship. They ditch that ship, too, as soon as Rick spies a sleeker model in a parking lot of that planet’s version of a Blips and Chitz rip-off. 

That’s the last Morty remembers before waking in yet another unfamiliar location, still exhausted and bone weary. 

“Rick!” He calls out weakly, frightened by the strangeness. He moves to get up. 

From above him, a heavy hand on his chest keeps him down, shushes him to calm. 

“You hungry?”

He nods from his position, getting a better look at his surroundings.

He is sprawled across a purple velvet couch, slightly musty. His head is in Rick’s lap, and he thinks it’s okay to feel safe. 

He settles in further and gets a good view of the ceiling, the large water spots threatening mold. Aside from the health hazard, it looks like a normal enough apartment.

On a small end table next to the couch, Rick maneuvers himself so as to not disturb Morty too much, and grabs the metal bowl of watery soup. 

“Can you feed yourself?”

Again, he nods. “I think so.” He sits up, this time with no trouble and only slightly reluctant, and grabs the bowl. He leans against Rick as he eats to compensate. It’s not the best meal he’s had, but it’s Earth food, and Morty is grateful there’s no humiliation or threat involved in this meal. 

“What did you eat?”

“Same thing.”

“Where are we?”

Rick waves a hand to everything around them and announces, “The Flesh Curtains’ home base.”

“It looks so normal,” he notes between spoonfuls of soup.

“What did you expect?”

“More depraved sex and debauchery.”

He snorts, jostling Morty’s bowl of soup. “Bath when you’re done.”

He’s about to protest out of habit but thinks again, discreetly taking in his scent. He might be right about a bath. 

When he finishes his soup and stumbles his way towards the bathroom, Rick doesn’t hesitate to lead him the rest of the way there. 

More still, he helps Morty run the bath. Rick must have already taken care of himself in the interim before Morty woke up; he’s no longer in his typical button down and slacks. He’s clean and dressed in what Morty can only describe as alien leather. He recalls a photo of Rick he saw years ago in Birdperson’s house circa the Flesh Curtains era. He tries not to ogle, not while the stench of stale piss is rolling off him in waves. 

Morty waits for him to leave to undress, but Rick helps him with that, too. 

He keeps expecting Rick to leave even as he strips down and lowers them both into the filling tub. 

They’re arranged so Morty’s back is to Rick’s front, and he shuts the faucet off when it’s almost full. 

He skims his arm across the surface, disturbing the tranquility. 

As Morty plays with the water, Rick grabs a cloth and soap, runs it first across Morty’s arms, then his chest. 

He takes a deep breath in; he forgot how nice it feels to be taken care of. And, he tries to lose himself in that feeling rather than remember how much muscle he’s lost during his imprisonment.

He leans when Rick nudges him forward to get his back. He thinks the scars have faded, but he can feel Rick’s fingers trace along them anyway. More tender than anything. 

“Sh-shh, Morty, it’s okay, Morty. I’m here.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying. He can’t stop either. His body is shaking, and the tears slip from his face into the water. He cries harder watching them make tiny ripples. 

“ _ I _ thought you were dead,” he confesses, hiccupping. 

Sharply, his chin is tilted back, and he gasps out in shock. The hiccups disappear as quickly as they came. The tears stop, too, and he stares back into Rick’s eyes. The vision is blurry, but it is unmistakably Rick. 

He moves slowly, giving Morty time to rebuff him, but Morty doesn’t have a good history of denying Rick anything.

Their lips meet, mouths sliding between them. 

Morty weakly twists around to face him, arm wrapped around his neck for stability.

When Rick pulls back, Morty nestles his head into the crook of his neck. 

.

Morty wakes up in a bed emanating the same musty smell as the couch, clean and feeling soft in a Flesh Curtains novelty shirt. The windows are drawn, and he isn’t sure if it’s night or dark or if wherever they are have night and day cycles.

He reaches out instinctively and grabs a handful of Rick’s shirt and sighs.  

He forgives himself enough to enjoy the moment in between. 

.

The second time he wakes up feeling the best he’s felt in months-- _ years _ . The curtains are pulled apart now, and Morty can see the sky bleed pinks and reds into deeper purples. Morty notes the pinpoints of light shine brighter in the dark. It’s much like the night sky back on Earth, and Morty wonders if Rick didn’t already get them home, but the landscape is what pulls him from the fantasy. Nowhere on Earth would the flora move with such fluidity, almost sentient-like. 

He comes out of the bedroom, and finds Rick on the couch from earlier, screwdriver in hand and bent over what looks like an old model of his portal gun. 

He come to sit next to him, looks at the now familiar but crude schematics lying under the array of pieces. 

Rick stiffens but does not move away. 

He tries not to take offense; he used to know what Rick was thinking at all times, but it’s been a decade, and is Rick even aware of the passage of time? He guesses Rick can’t completely be ignorant, Morty himself is a testament. He wants to come out of his skin. So much time was lost; sometimes this does not matter, sometimes it does. 

“What’s the plan?”

Rick stares at him like he was simple, not too different from when he was younger. “There is no plan.”

Almost petulantly, he reminds him, “We have to get home somehow.”

In this moment, his eyes narrow, and his features sharpen. “Morty… we aren’t going home.”

“W-what? You mean, like, how home is just a meaningless social construct?”

“Like… I mean I got some loose ends here before we can go.”

“Y-you can’t possibly be thinking about going back there. Rick, you--we just barely escaped from there! Do you have a death wish?!” He knocks the piece of metal from his hands and forces him to look him in the eyes. “Do you have a death wish?”

“It’s the right thing to do, Morty.”

Beyond saving Rick, he hasn’t thought much of the consequences the New Federation might have on the galaxy, but he has Rick now and he doesn’t think he needs anything else. 

“But, I just got you back.”

Wordlessly, Rick picks up the scrap metal again, hits it with a handheld laser into something more malleable. 

In the silence, Morty scans the room, taking in the posters adorning the walls and remembering what Doofus Rick had told him about Birdperson, Squanchy, and Rick fighting the Federation together. He recalls how Rick told him this was the Flesh Curtains’ hideout, and he doesn’t think he’s lying. He thinks about how there is a mostly functioning outdated version of Rick’s portal gun here, complete with Isotope-322, and he comes to realize a truth. 

“Was the Flesh Curtains just a cover?”

“Not  _ just _ a cover,” he admits. 

A laugh slipped out uncontrollably; he thinks of a band touring the universe to bring down the strongest alliance of planets at the time. 

“I graverobbed the dead Rick that they used to trick me into thinking you were dead and used the goo from the garage to make my own portal gun.”

“You always were smarter than they gave you credit for.”

“Can’t we go home, Rick? Do what you need to do and hand off the whole saving the universe thing to Squanchy?”

“You think I want to do this, Morty? It’s not safe for--It’s not safe if I don’t--You think I want to--I want to--what the fuck happened to you? I thought you’d want me to save the damn universe. Finally grow out of that Vindicators phase?”

“Yeah, Rick,” he spat, “I grew up. I had to.” He shoves Rick’s hands away and twists together the wires giving him trouble. “Without you.” Angrily, he keeps going and going and going until it’s looking more and more like the portal gun Morty destroyed when he came to save Rick. He shoves the portal gun back into Rick’s hands. “It sucked a lot.”

Rick’s eyes traced along the lines of the portal gun, impressed by the handiwork. They follow all the way up Morty’s form. 

“I--I can’t do this without you, Morty,” he pauses. “But I will.” 

His eyes flicker, hurt, and he lets out an unsteady breath of air. “Fuck you, Rick,” he says, and he kisses him hard. The anger burns inside him but no more so than the desire to keep Rick by his side. “We should go see Squanchy. He’s been working with the other rebels.”

“You think?”

Licking his lips, he says, “Actually… Fuck. I knew I forgot something. We better move.”

“What?”

“Phoenix Person.”

.

As it turns out, they didn’t have much to worry about. Much. 

They arrive on Amicar--where Morty had portaled Squanchy and Birdperson--thinking they’d stumble into trouble. However, it seems Squanchy had a better handle on things. 

Squanchy greets them excitedly, happy to see them--though it pales in comparison to how he reacted when Morty was able to send a transmission to him to let him know they were alive--, and explains that Birdperson had been subdued as soon as they landed through quick thinking. Unfortunately, the rebels have not made much progres with the brain washing he was subjected to. Their last attempt left Birdperson with no memories at all. This is where Squanchy hopes Rick might come in. 

Rick agrees to take a shot; Morty can spot the guilt running through him and wishes he could do something about it. 

Moved to another base that even Rick was unfamiliar with to spend the night, Morty asks him, “You think you can do it?”

“If I can’t, then no one can.”

Morty believes with his heart that he can. 

The next day, Squanchy tells them that in the interim, he and the rest of the rebels have been collecting information on the New Galactic Federation. 

“Thigns have changed since we were younger, Rick,” Squanchy briefs them. “All the data on these new ships and how they work… I need both your help to make sure we aren’t missing anything.”

They agree, Rick elaborating more than Morty, who had been trapped on one of the lower levels after Squanchy and Birdperson were transported back to Amicar. 

One day during their preparations with slow progress on Birdperson, apropos of nothing, Rick asks him, “You know why the Council of Ricks never wanted anyone but a Rick to handle a portal gun, Morty?”

“Because they’re selfish?”

“Close. They were all afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Someone using it better than they can.”

“It’s a portal gun. How much more can you do with a portal gun?”

“You’ve seen what I can do.”

He thinks of all the irresponsible things that he and Rick did in his youth and thinks they were relatively harmless in what they accomplished, more mischievous than devious. 

“The only limiting factor with these babies is the Rick behind it.”

From there, Rick works with the other rebels to retrieve Birdperson’s memories during the day and works on increasing their firepower at night. 

When Morty asks what he’s doing, he is told that he is planning for if and when Plans A through F fail and they have to rely on G through Z and more. 

As they dig deeper into the constructs of the New Galactic Federation, they discover a shocking secret that causes Morty to punch a hole in the wall of their temporary lodgings. 

Hissing through clenched teeth, he bandages his own fist with the first aid kit Squanchy hands him, “You’re sure?” He doesn’t want to believe it any more than he has to. 

“There’s only one way to be sure.”

“Which is?”

“Taking everything down.”

“I don’t get it. If the Citadel of Ricks is controlling everything, then why did they need Rick? They’re  _ all _ Ricks.”

“The Rickest Rick,” he answers, as if it were obvious. 

Morty rolls his eyes in fond exasperation, accepting the lack of answer and accepting the pitfalls of his life. “So, now that we know what we’re up against… What are we waiting for?”

Squanchy looks between the two of them, thinks of Birdperson with a head still a mess, and says, “We can either wait for them to come for us or we can go to them.”

. 


	5. v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [schwifty-rick](http://schwifty-rick.tumblr.com) for the great art! <3 Always a fan, and I've been so lucky to work with them.

**without you, life in technicolor: part v/v**

**.**

Over the following months, they continue their preparations, escalating their defensive and offensive tactics.

Rick ends up designing and creating three mechanical suits, one for each of them.

In addition, Rick continues to ‘improve’ their weaponry, and Morty is worried about the looming threat of death, wondering when it will end. He’s almost obsessive over it, rarely coming to bed; Morty’s unsure how much rest he gets. Morty himself gets a few hours of sleep each night. While Rick works on his weapons, Morty works on the portal gun, adding his own modifications. Rick doesn’t say much when he sees Morty fiddling with it, so he imagines he has Rick’s approval.

Sometimes, even with his mind seemingly focused on his technlogical advances, Morty catches Rick watching him with an indescribable expression. They haven’t had much time to talk since leaving their first hideout. Morty doesn’t think they’ll have much time until it’s all over, if that.

But, he puts his faith in Rick. When all is said and done, they can go back to Earth and back to where things were just beginning.

He snaps the transparent aluminum in place with a satisfying click.

He tries to hide his satisfaction when Rick gives him an approving quirk of his eyebrow.

.

Even with a common goal, they argue constantly about it.

“Because last time worked out so well?”

“Remind me who got your ass out of jail?”

Morty scowls. He can’t believe Rick would want to do go back alone after basically telling him he needed him in order to be successful.

“Why don’t you want me coming?”

“You’ll get in the way.”

“I’m not a kid anymore.”

“I’m not saying you are!”

“Then what? I can hold my own.”

“Because last time worked out so well?” he mocks.

“It worked out, okay.”

Rick mutters, “If you can call it working out.”

“We’re alive, and you told me you needed me.”

“You’ve done enough.”

“I can do more.”

“You don’t need to. I got this covered.”

“Try again but cut the bullshit this time.”

“Eat my entire ass.”

“Maybe after you get the stick out. _Rick_ , I’m coming.”

“Fine,” he snaps. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Finally, it’s Rick, Squanchy, and Morty who agree on a plan that involved only the three of them. Birdperson has not fully regained his memories but is adquately functional without them. They agree he can keep an eye on their safeholds.

It’s through this plan that Morty finds himself on a junk ship with Rick and Squanchy one moment and utterly alone with the enemy the next.

He shoots them down as they come; their own lasers no match for his superior automatic.

His job was to distract the guards while Squanchy and Rick took care of whomever the new Council member were. It was ten minutes past the check in time, and he hasn’t heard his communicator go off, signaling their mission completion. He worries for them even as he dodges the bursts of laser fire. The lightweight metal of his new armor makes it easy to move, enhances his natural abilities.

Running down a large hall, he ducks into an ostentatious room, almost gaudy in its ostentatious design. A long, golden--plated?--table is firmly situated at its center, and he skirts around it. The red walls are almost bloody; he has to reassure himself it’s only paint.

Regardless, while the room is impressive in size as well, he thinks to leave quickly, not wanting to corner himself.

Only, something catches his eye between the luxurious tapestries of royal purple.

It is a painting that disturbs him to his core.

It is of himself.

He’s in a black button down he doesn’t recognize, the tie a deep red, but it’s unmistakably him.

He has little time to process this when he sees a familiar figure under it.

“Rick?”

“Aww, geez, Morty, I sure am glad to see you,” Doofus Rick’s face scrunches up in realization. “So sorry you’re here.” He shyly tries to edge away from him as if there was something else that could distract him.

Dumbly, he asks, “What are you doing here?”

“I got caught. I’m okay though,” he winces as if _Morty_ would hurt him.

“Caught how? Why is there a picture of me… of a Morty up there? What is going on around here?” He remembers Jerry unable to contact Doofus Rick, “Where have you _been_?”

“Here and there.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Just a few months.”

“And you’re okay.”

“Mostly,” he hedges.

“Fuck, why--whatever. We need to go. Now.”

“I can’t,” he refuses.

“Why not?”

He looks towards the larger than life oil painting hanging over their heads.

“What’s going on, Rick? Who is that?”

With unconcealed awe, Doofus Rick stares at the portrait before replying, “My Morty.”

“I belong to no Rick, especially not a disgrace such as you.”

Eyes dart toward the voice then shift away, Doofus Rick loses his wondrous expression and stammers out an apology, “P-President Morty! I’m sorry. Geez, don’t hurt him, sir.”

On the other hand, Morty whips around to confront what appears to be his counterpart.

Like all the other times he’s met a Morty, the sensation he gets is similar to looking in a funhouse mirror. Feels odd, but there he is.

“J19 Zeta 7, is this how I taught you to receive guests?”

“Sir, no, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I will discipline you at a later time,” he turns toward Morty, locking eyes. “C137, I will be brief. My name is President Morty. I have no doubt you have already activated your emergency signal and that your Rick is on his way here.”

His mouth forms a thin line, and he tilts his head in confirmation.

Instead of cowering in fear, his doppleganger laughs. Morty supposes that’s appropriate. Rick and Squanchy knew they were outnumbered, which is why they planned to only locate, execute, and leave as soon as possible.

“Don’t hurt him,” Doofus Rick pleads again.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

He clutches the heavy chain around his neck and says, “He’s my friend.”

The echoing crack sounds through the room as his palm connects with Doofus Rick’s cheek. “You are a thing, _my_ thing. Things do not have friends,” he snaps.

Doofus Rick holds his hand to the side of his face, nodding sadly. “Yes… sir.”

“What are you doing this for?” Morty demands. “You’re a Morty!”

“It is precisely _because_ I am a Morty that I have to do this.”

“Morties would never do this.”

“No, _you_ don’t do this. I do as I please.”

“Why? Why use the Federation? Hide behind them. Why capture my Rick? Me? Who are you, really?”

“I’m you but better,” he grins.

“What happened to the Council of Ricks?”

“They permanently retired.” Morty doesn’t think he’ll get any other answer until he starts to pour a drink from a nearby tray and speaks, “Are you familiar with the concept of the One True Morty?”

Morty is instantly thrown back into a terrible place filled with other Morties frightened out of their minds, spouting gibberish about a savior. He seethes at the pointless ambition,  “What, is that like the Mortiest Morty?”

President Morty arches an eyebrow at the colloquialism. “It is as you say. The Mortiest Morty… but also the one to bring about the salvation of all the Morties across the multiverse. I will lead all the Morties who seek me to overthrow their Rick oppressors. I will show them their true potential.”

For a moment, Morty believes that President Morty was doing what he thought was best for Mortie, especially after witnessing how some Ricks could so easily discard their original Morties when they became inconvenient. But, he does not forget how he came to stand in front of the President. “What about the Morties who are friends with their Ricks? Equals? What about me?”

His last question is emphasized with a punch thrown at the painting. Were he not wearing Rick’s armor, he might have broken at least one bone in his hand.

“You are an aberration at best and a blight on my universe at worst.”

He’s confident he knows what to punch next, but his need for answers is too great. “Why didn’t you kill all of us when you had us? Were _you_ the one who wanted me to think Rick was dead?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I needed to make sure you were worthy before I personally sent you to hell.”

“Why _me_ at all?” Morty doesn’t understand.

“I remembered you from before. I did not like you. You stood out to the other Morties who would talk incessantly about you. Talk of you distracted them from their proper worship. But, with you gone, there will be no one to stop me.”

It takes time for Morty to process his words. He doesn’t think he’s met another Morty long eough to leave an impression. Now this Morty claims to remember him. “Who are you really?”

As if anticipating the question, a mouth corner turns upward, and he slowly covers his right eye with one hand.

It doesn’t come back immediately, but Morty remembers. Morty remembers being led into the caverns by this Morty. He still doesn’t know what he’s done to this Morty except meet him. “You… back then. Those poor Morties... You’re crazy. There is no One True Morty! We’re all Morties equally!”

President Morty tosses his drink at the wall, glass shattering. “No… I am a _genius_! I have more genius than all the Ricks combined!” Breathing heavy with emotion, he claims, “I will show you and your Rick, and when you are dead, I will have your Rick.”

Doofus Rick makes a noise of surprise, possibly disappointment, at the proclamation.

With a snap of President Morty’s fingers, Guard Ricks pour in with their staffs trained on Morty.

“I am so sorry, Morty,” Doofus Rick whispers. “This is all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Rick. He is not your fault.”

His words do nothing to stop the guards from surrounding him, does nothing to improve their situation. He doesn’t go obediently, not again.

.

Making their way through the other side of the ship, Rick and Squanchy are engaged in a battle of their own.

“Come on, Rick! We gotta move! Morty sent up an emergency signal.”

“Tell me where the new Council of Ricks are or I’ll kill you,” Rick threatens a Soldier Rick as they step into a side corridor..

“Who?” Struggling, the soldier spits out, “I’d rather die!”

“Fine,” he grunts, shooting him between the eyes. “Have it your way.” He turns to Squanchy, “Where are we going?”

“I don’t have an exact location. Something’s jamming the signal.”

“Fan _fucking_ tastic. What a surprise. This dumbass evil lair ship has something that jams our signals,” he gripes.

“It looks like we’re heading towards--”

“A trap?”

“I was going to say the ship’s center.”

“Same difference.”

Running the long distance towards the center of the ship, Rick thinks how much easier it might be if he could use the portal gun.

.

Morty is pushed forward, frog marched between the Guard Ricks, two steps behind President Morty. Doofus Rick is behind a row of Guard Ricks towards the end of their procession. They make the consequences of his continued resistance clear. It does not mean he doesn’t think about the guards he’s managed to take out before their threats, and he’s more than satisfied to have caused the black eye on President Morty’s face. Almost manic, it reminds him of the eye patch he was wearing when they first met.

His fingers twitch, hovering over the portal gun hanging from his utility belt, but no. He will not leave without Doofus Rick.

They stop in front of a set of double doors.

President Morty has a crooked smile, hands clasped behind his back as he commands his guard. “Take him,” he points to Doofus Rick, “inside. He may watch.”

“You don’t have to do this, sir,” he beseeched as he was ushered in.

“Silence!” To Morty, he gestures to go through the doors. “I trust you aren’t thinking to escape.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you? We’re both Morties after all.”

“Indeed, but we are _not_ the same.” He listens for something that Morty cannot discern. Nodding in satisfaction, he finally says, “Your Rick is on his way. Once he arrives, everything will be set.”

.

[ ](http://schwifty-rick.tumblr.com)

A short time ago, the distress call from Morty’s suit had abruptly stopped. Rick was not so optimistic to think Morty had gotten himself to safety.

Squanchy signaled for Rick to provide cover as he went through the double doors first.

They are blinded by the lights that flood what appear to be an arena _on a damn space ship_. The high ceilings make it appear larger than it is, and other than the way they came in, there are no exits.

Rick’s eyes adjust immediately and he goes on the defense, throwing up a shield and scanning the area.

“Rick! It’s Morty! And… Morty? What the squanch is going on here?”

He sees his Morty and another Morty facing each other. There is a group of Guard Ricks standing around what appears to be Doofus Rick. Internally, he comes to a startling realization surrounding his easy escape the first time around. Great, he thought, now he owed the idiot another favor. But, then again, he doubts Morty would have learned so much about the portal gun without some outside interference, and he concludes them as even for the time being.

“Rick, on time as usual.”

“Time means nothing to me,” he responds. He juts out his thumb, pointing it towards the strange Morty. “Who the fuck is this guy?”

“I am your new Morty, you may call me ‘Sir.’”

“Pass. Morty, where the fuck is the Council?”

“You will find no Council here. I rule alone.”

Crossing his arms in defiance, Rick says, “Look, if you’re trying to tell me you killed the second Council, that’s fine by me. I don’t care. Maybe save us the trip next time, but fine. I’m just going to take my Morty and leave now.”

“You cannot leave.”

“Fuck,” he hits his forehead with his palm tiredly, rolling his eyes, “Why did I know you were going to say that?”

“Rick,” Morty hissed. “He’s the one who planned all this.”

Rick aims his gun swiftly. “Cool. This just got about five times easier.”

“I think you will find that course of action unwise.”

“Does it look like I care?”

“Does it look like I’m bluffing?”

“ _Rick, I’m handling this_.”

“Oh, _you’re_ handling this? Sure. This guy, though. W-what, you want to monologue now? Can we at least have a seat? I’ve been busting my ass running around this ship all day.”

As soon as he spoke the words, a Gromflomite appears with a chair for him.

He grunts, “Thanks.”

“What about me?” Squanchy asks.

“You are of no consequence.”

“Squanch you, motherfucker.”

“In fact…” He inclines his head toward Squanchy and the Guard Ricks fire.

No one has time to react; the armor provides little protection against that much concentrated firepower. Where they hit him, there is smoldering metal and a wound that’s more gaping hole than flesh. He drops instantly.

Morty cries out in anguish, still rooted to his spot.

“Fucking shit! Squanchy!” Too late, Rick holds him as he slumps forward. “You… motherfucker!” He straightens up again, fires off a quick shot in retaliation, and inadvertently hits the guard that jumps to protect President Morty instead.

“Don’t hurt him!” Doofus Rick struggles from behind the guards to speak out.

“Don’t hurt _him_?! He just killed our best friend!”

“He didn’t mean to!”

“Sure looked that way to me! What the actual fuck? I don’t care what’s going on here, Morty. He dies today.”

Through his sobs, Morty tries to keep a clear head, tries to level Rick. “Rick, we can get out of this. He just wants--he just wants to duel me.”

“ _Duel_ you?”

“If I don’t, he’ll blow up the entire ship. But, if I win, we can all leave together.”

“All of us?” He laughs mirthlessly.

“I’m so sorry, Rick…”

He shakes his head, “And if you lose?”

“I’ll be the only one who dies.”

“Fuck. We need to work on being on the same page. That plan is not okay.”

“I can do this.”

“And what’s he getting out of this?”

“I become your master,” he announces cheerfully. “C137 promised me your obedience.”

“Hard pass. Morty, what the fuck?”

“It is unfortunate you all do not have much of a choice. Before you arrived, as a show of good sportsmanship, I have set up a duel between the two of us. We will each select a weapon. I expect no interference.”

“Should we expect the same?”

He gives him a small shrug.

“Of course.”

“Of course. Choose your weapon.”

A Rick comes forward with an array of weapons that Morty has never seen before but can likely deduce how to use. It is pointless, in any eventuality, for him to choose one. Still, he picks a simple looking one, point and shoot with an easy trigger.

Morty and President Morty stand at the center of the ship’s arena, back to back.

“Shoot on the count of ten.”

“Okay,” he says, as if he has a choice.

With each count, they take a step further apart, each step emphasized by a thudding of his heart.

Almost predictably, he shoots before ten, but Morty is prepared, hearing President Morty’s uneven half-turn step in the otherwise tense silence of their stage. However, the weapon in his hand does nothing, and he curses. He ducks, avoiding the shots from the Guard Ricks behind him and the Morty in front of him. He can hear Rick’s shout of protest, followed by more shots and bodies falling.

From all angles, fatal beams of energy light up the arena. Bodies duck and run, and some hit the ground. Dust rises to meet them.

Doofus Rick breaks out from behind his remaining guards and approaches the two of them, coming between them. President Morty still has his weapon in hand, trained on them both, but he has to shoot through Doofus Rick if he wants to get to Morty.

Morty urges him, “You need to get away from here.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

President Morty shakes his head, “Because he’s defective. He’s not a Rick at all. Move, J19 Zeta 7.”

“No, sir, you can’t.”

“He _is_ a Rick, and he’s fine the way he is!”

“He’s a coward who ran away from his _family_.”

Morty falls silent. Periphally, he begins to piece together their story.

“It is my fault,” Doofus Rick swears. “But, geez, I want to make it up to you.”

“Then move.”

“No!”

“J19 Zeta 7, are you disobeying your master’s orders?”

“I know you’re better than this. There’s good in you.”

“You didn’t even know I existed for most my life.”

“You don’t really want to do this.”

“I think he really does,” Rick says, emerging fom the settling dust with a cough. There are no more Guard Ricks, but an alarm has gone off. Morty glances at Rick. “I sealed all the exits,” he reports. “Ready to wrap things up?”

“You think you can leave?” President Morty laughs.

“Hey asshole, who’s going to stop us? Oh, but don’t worry, I’m not leaving until you’re dead.”

Working in tandem, prompted by his words, Morty pulls out the portal gun from his hip.

Eyes tracking Morty’s movement, President Morty’s eyes bulge in recognition. “How do you have _that_?!”

“My Rick gave it to me.”

“A Rick _gave_ it to you?” He exclaims in disbelief. “Impossible!”

“I told you; Rick and I are equals.”

“Impossible,” he scoffs, falling to his knees, eyes wide. He rounds on Rick, “ _You_ are an even bigger disgrace than J19 Zeta 7.”

He sends a portal up between them and jumps through it; he appears above him, dropping down on him with a kick. President Morty’s weapon falls away, too far for anyone to reach.

Doofus Rick makes a run for it, but Rick holds him back, keeps him from interfering. Doofus Ricks kicks him sharply in the shin but his hold does not relent.

“If you run, we will find you again. I will not allow you to exist any longer than I have use for you. If you will not yield to me, then you’re better off dead.”

“I’m not running.” He points the portal gun at President Morty, who can only scowl.

“What do you think you can do with that?”

Morty shakes his head, “You can’t even imagine.”

The same eerie green extends from the portal gun, but instead of a portal, the green wraps itself around the form on the ground, enveloping it so completely the features are indistinguishable.

There is a scream, but it comes from Doofus Rick.

Rick lets him drop and limps up beside Morty slowly. The alarm is still blaring, but no Ricks have come for them, likely they were watching as their leader winked out of existence. He is unsure how many Ricks were acting against their will, but he doubt they will be attacked again today.

Morty looks up at him, having fallen to his knees after pulling the proverbial trigger. “He’s not dead.”

“Where did you send him?”

“I didn’t send him anywhere…,” Morty admits. “He’s in between universes. He can’t escape… not without this.” He waves the modified portal gun in his hand, thinks of the back to an inspired moment of creation. “He’ll be between universes until he dies, if he can die in the in between. But, he won’t have anything there. He can’t hurt anything there.”

“Morty…”

“Sometimes, death isn’t enough.”

“You’re right, Morty,” Doofus Rick says, snatching the portal gun from his tired grip. “It’s not enough.”

“Rick, what are you doing?”

“I have to help him,” he explains.

“You can’t. Did you forget he’s evil?!”

“Maybe, but he’s mine,” he frowns.

“You’re not bringing him back.” Flashes of lonely memories goes through his mind, and it makes his stomach churn.

“I’m not bringing him back.”

It dawns on Rick and Morty what Doofus Rick intends to do.

“What is he worth to you? You barely know him.”

“He’s my Morty. I-I didn’t even know I had a Morty until a few months ago,” he trails off in thought. Adjusting the settings on the portal gun intuitively, Doofus Rick recharges it and hands it back to Morty, standing in front of him. “Thanks for the help, Morty… One last favor?”

He nods speechlessly.

“Tell Jerry ‘goodbye’ for me.”

He owes President Morty nothing but contempt, but he owes Doofus Rick for getting him to this point, for letting Rick escape. He doesn’t even know if Doofus Rick will even be able to find President Morty in the transdimensional ether. The things he’s sent there… have never come back no matter how long he leaves the portal open, and he never plans to explore it himself.

His mind is a jumble, and he’s riding on fumes. Yet, he knows-- _he knows_ \--he will regret his decision when the adrenaline wears off.

He fires anyway, and as Doofus Rick goes the same way as President Morty with nothing but memories in Morty’s mind to mark his departure and his existence.

Morty finds himself being pulled up flush against Rick’s side, each one bracing the other to keep them both standing.

.

The scene in front of them is familiar as they sit side by side, staring out into the black expanse of space. Using the portal gun in the traditional way, Rick got the both of them back on the ship, short at least one person.

Rick cards his fingers through Morty’s curls, and Morty starts sniffling.

Their coordinates are for Earth, and Morty hasn’t seen his family for so long.

There is no relief, no catharsis, in his tears.

His soul feels utterly wrecked.

“Shh, shh. Come on, Morty,” Rick says softly. One hand is firm on the steering wheel, the other now rubbing up and down Morty’s back. “Everything is going to be alright.”

But, he knows it won’t be completely alright, not when things have gone so far off from how he planned them to be when he first started out.

“Do you remember--do you remember what you promised me before I graduated?”

Rick grumbles but nods. “Yeah…”

“I don’t think I’m ready to go home yet.”

“Got any ideas?”

“Rick and Morty for a hundred years?”

He grasps his hand and gets a squeeze back.

Rick and Morty forever and ever.

.

///

.

**the undamaged coda**

It’s been a long time since Summer Smith has seen her little brother, and she hopes he’s doing well, that he’s found Rick. She doesn’t know what she’d do otherwise, the genius that manifested in her brother and her grandfather skipped her. However, in her own daughter, she thinks she might see some of that uniqueness.

Maybe one day, Summer will tell her daughter about her great grandfather and her uncle.

Coming back from vacation, she is loathe to deal with the work that has been building up, but she forges on. As she scrolls through her previously neglected phone, sorting through the updates and notifications, a message from an unidentified number appears on her phone, and she drops it onto the wood floor.

Between the spidery cracks on the screen, she re-reads the message carefully, each word causing her vision to blur more and more. Kneeling and clutching the phone to her chest, she cries out in immeasurable relief and happiness.

.

_Hey Summer, found Rick a while back. Needed some time off. Feeling better now. Up for some Blips and Chitz?_

_-Rick & Morty _

.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the mods who put together this big bang! 
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://rickandmortysins.tumblr.com/) as well.


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